I was sitting in a drinker at the foot of Leith Walk tanning Tennent's – roughly one hour out my stretch – and retelling the morning's main event. Trust me, after nine months in the pound, a thing like this was an event. 'So, I walks out the gates and goes into the first shop I sees, asks for a pack of smokes, I was gasping, like.' I got the nodding dog from Wellsy and Bandy Rab. It had been a while since I'd held court with the old crew – boys looked like they were right into it as well – I can feed a yarn with the best of them, known for it. 'And the guy at the till, he's some fat fucking Jambo sitting on his arse with a gut spilling over the counter. Y'know the type, most exercise he gets is doing a couple of scratch-cards a day ...' Laughs. More nods. Bandy Rab shifted onto his other arse-cheek, leaned into Wellsy, making his pint shoogle in the glass; Wellsy gave him a wee frown that said cool the beans, man. 'So, he gives me this look ...' I made the look; that's when I caught sight of the blonde with her eye on me.
